


Waiting for the penny to drop

by spicywatson



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Chief of Staff Edward Nygma, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mayor Oswald Cobblepot, Mayor/chief of staff, Mutual Pining, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-30 04:33:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19845670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spicywatson/pseuds/spicywatson
Summary: Ed’s been acting weird lately.





	Waiting for the penny to drop

The day starts like this: Oswald wakes up to Ed’s touch, encouraging him to “get out of bed, sleepyhead,” and eat the scrumptious breakfast he’s prepared. He feigns annoyance as he drags himself downstairs, even though his heart skips a beat at the thought. It all feels so _domestic._ Oswald indulges in Belgian waffles piled high with fresh strawberries and whipped cream, crispy bacon on the side. He always loves it when Ed cooks for him; Ed is undeniably excellent in the kitchen. At one point, Ed quips that Oswald looks like he’s wearing lipstick, fondly reaching over to dab at Oswald’s mouth and clean away the strawberry juice coating his lips. It takes Oswald several minutes to recover from this sweet display of domesticity. Ed then reads the morning paper to him as they sip their coffee, Oswald continuously pouring more sugar into his cup until finally Ed chuckles and stops him from adding yet another spoonful. After the delicious breakfast, the two of them set off to prepare for the day, Ed’s hand staying a moment too long on Oswald’s shoulder as they part ways to their rooms.

That’s another thing: Ed’s been acting weird lately. When he touches Oswald (which is often now) it’s lingering, when he looks at Oswald it’s more of a gaze, which he hurriedly breaks out of whenever Oswald catches him watching for too long. Of course, Oswald is the same way, making eyes at Ed and wanting to constantly be in contact with him, but, unlike Oswald, Ed was never like this before. He’s really not the most tactile person; instead, Oswald is typically the one to initiate a hug or to place his hand on Ed’s back and keep it there. 

Ed’s also been going way out of his way in an effort to be chivalrous. Always offering Oswald a hand, refilling his wine glass, cooking breakfast for him. On one occasion, Oswald had actually been a bit frightened by the velocity at which Ed sprinted to the car to hold the door open for him. Oswald would be lying if he said he didn’t find it at least a tiny bit endearing, but it is somewhat concerning. Ed is almost too eager to please, like he’s trying really hard to stay on Oswald’s good side, like he’s _afraid_ of him. Oswald prefers to keep his minions on their toes, but he never intended for Ed to be fearful of him. After all, Ed is his best friend, his soulmate, his one true love.

 _I would do anything for you,_ he had said, his heart open and firelight in his eyes. True, honest words. Oswald reminds himself of this over and over, whenever he’s afraid that Ed’s loyalty to him is under pressure.

For now, Oswald makes an effort to let go, to force himself to trust Ed. It’s almost too easy, to give in and let himself fall, especially when Ed already owns his heart, is the reason it beats.

They only have two events planned for the day. A simple, manageable itinerary.

First is the kindergarten graduation, a ceremony lasting around two hellish hours. Oswald gives his speech (or rather, the speech Ed prepared for him) to the little children and parents, flashing his best encouraging smile while his hands fidget on either side of the podium. The heat is starting to get to him, seeping through the several layers of fabric he’s dressed in, crawling under his skin. The white stone steps outside City Hall seem to attract the sun, the heat burning under Oswald’s shoes and the bright reflection blinding him. Even in the morning, summer temperatures in Gotham can climb surprisingly high.

Oswald rambles through the rest of the speech, not even remembering any of what he’s said, and then hobbles back to Ed, who waits dutifully a few feet away from the podium. Ed gives him a bright smile and a word of praise. For the next hour and a half, they wait in silent impatience as each tiny graduate is called to approach the podium and claim their diploma. Oswald shifts uncomfortably on his feet while Ed maintains his poise (although the sun has made Ed’s hair start to curl in the most adorable way). 

The heat and the pain in his leg begin to overcome Oswald, who has become increasingly bitter that no one even thought to provide him with a chair. He manages to contain himself for the next several minutes until a wave of nausea rolls over him. Ed must notice the way he sways a little, instantly placing a comforting hand on his lower back.

“Oswald? What’s wrong?” he murmurs, brow furrowed in concern.

Dear, sweet Ed, always worried about him. “I’ll be okay,” Oswald waves his hand, trying his best to keep his composure even as sweat drips down his temple and his hands tremble. Each time he blinks, his melting mascara almost glues his eyelashes together.

“Is it your blood sugar?” Ed gently brushes Oswald’s damp hair off of his forehead, apparently attempting to keep the style neat. It’s too late, his hairspray has practically evaporated off, leaving a limp, unkempt bird’s nest.

Feeling weaker and weaker by the moment, Oswald leans a little against Ed’s side. “I- I think it’s the heat,” he mumbles. 

Ed wraps his arm securely around Oswald. “Okay. Well, it’s almost over,” he assures.

For a brief moment, Oswald wonders how the press will react to this image, of Ed tenderly holding him, of Oswald pressing himself into Ed’s side. They would certainly assume they are a couple, and then get carried away with wild stories that make Oswald blush and blanch. But for now, he feels too sick to worry on it for too long.

The second the ceremony ends and the kindergarteners are declared graduated, Ed and Oswald slip away to the car, avoiding the flash of camera bulbs and the shouting of reporters. When they’ve settled in the leather backseat, Oswald strips off several layers until he’s left with just his trousers and a white undershirt. He doesn’t miss the way Ed shyly averts his eyes. A little part of Oswald is embarrassed to be so _bare_ in front of him, but he can’t deny how nice it feels to lose the excess clothing. The gust of cold from the air conditioning instantly cools the sweat that glistens on Oswald’s skin, turning it to frost. He leans his head back and just breathes, enjoying the break from the stifling heat.

A hand on his knee makes him jump. He opens his eyes to find that Ed’s waving a pear in front of his face. “For your blood sugar,” Ed chirps. He then produces a knife from his suit pocket and begins carefully slicing the green fruit, handing Oswald the wedges. The pear is soft and sweet and Oswald is incredibly grateful to have the little boost of sugar. He eats the whole thing in under five minutes, fingers trembling as he eagerly accepts each slice from Ed. When the rest of it is gone, he sinks back into the leather seat, a little more content.

Ed takes to folding the rumpled clothing Oswald’s shed. “Feeling better?” Oswald nods weakly, still somewhat low on energy but gradually gaining his strength back. “I think we should consider getting you some lighter suits for summer. I don’t want you to-” Ed sighs, as if he’s releasing built-up tension, “we can’t have you feeling this sick until September.”

Oswald opens his mouth to respond, but Ed is quick to add, “And you really need to wear your leg brace.” This time, his tone has a little bite to it, like he’s _frustrated_ with Oswald. “You just need to get used to it,” he mutters, placing the neatly folded stack of Oswald’s discarded clothing between them. He then turns and fixes his gaze out the window, and is quiet for the rest of the car ride. His hands fidget restlessly in his lap.

\---------------------------------------------------------------

As soon as they arrive home, Ed (whose mood seems to have brightened again, thankfully) puts on his Chief of Staff voice and orders Oswald straight to the shower, insisting the cool water will leave him feeling refreshed. He’s right, of course. With the gentle sprinkle chilling his skin and revitalizing him, Oswald tips his head back, allowing his eyes to flutter shut as his mind wanders. Of course, his thoughts stray directly to the burning handprint on his lower back. And then to the feeling of Ed’s arm tightening around his waist. A deep, warm blush involuntarily spreads across his cheeks, cold water droplets turning to ice as they touch his heated face. Oswald bites his lip, suspending a smile. He wonders what it would be like to have Ed’s strong arms wrap around him, just to hold him, protect him (not that he really needs protecting- it’s just a dreamy thought). They’ve hugged before, of course, but it was never romantic. He could hold Oswald from behind, arms locked around his front, chin resting atop his head, maybe as they sway gently to faint music. A blissful sigh escapes Oswald’s lips.

His thoughts take a turn when he remembers how he literally _stripped_ in front of Ed. In the moment he had felt rather unsexy, skin drenched in sweat and hair limp and frizzy, but he can’t help but wonder if Ed was at all distracted by him. Maybe he stole a few glances while Oswald wasn’t looking, his gaze lingering as long as possible. No. No. _No. You’re not handsome. You’re not attractive. Ed could never want you,_ the voice in his head reminds him. 

Oswald huffs, frustrated and shameful. Drops the soap bar. Leans down to pick it up, finds Ed standing before him. He’s gorgeous and tall, broad-chested with strong arms. His eyes are so deep and dark Oswald could lose himself in them. For now, he can pretend it’s real, so he lets his mind run wild with scenarios that make him swoon. Ed pressing him back against the tiles, his large, warm hands on him, their bodies flush against each other, heated skin dripping with water, Ed leaning down under the spray of the shower for a passionate kiss-

A knock on the bathroom door breaks Oswald out of his fantasy. “Oswald? We need to get going soon,” Ed’s voice is tentative, like he really doesn’t want to disturb Oswald. “I’ve got your suit picked out for you,” he adds, sounding a little more certain of himself. Oswald can’t ignore how his heart flutters. Ed always knows exactly how to dress Oswald, how to help him make a lasting impression with pinstripe or paisley. 

Oswald makes an effort to dry off and lotion up in a timely manner, slipping on his gold summer bathrobe and greeting Ed outside the door. He certainly feels much better, skin fresh and clean and smelling like pomegranate.

Ed presses a hand to Oswald’s forehead. “Cool as a cucumber!” he announces with a dashing smile, pretty pleased with the results of the cold shower. “And you smell nice,” he adds happily. Oswald fails to stifle a nervous giggle, already feeling a blazing heat blooming across his cheeks. He almost doesn’t register how Ed places his hands on Oswald’s shoulders, thumbs gently rubbing little circles into the fabric of his bathrobe. Ed’s features soften in an instant. “Oswald…” he breathes, voice barely there and lacking that same chipperness it had only seconds ago. 

“Yes?” Oswald whispers.

“You smudged your eyeliner,” Ed murmurs, lifting one of his hands, thumb swiping high over Oswald’s cheekbone, “right there.”

And then something changes, a tangible shift in the atmosphere, leaving the two of them at the center of the universe. There’s a sort of blissful tension, like Oswald is simultaneously burning up inside and floating in a daze he never wants to break out of. Ed’s lips part and he’s gazing down at Oswald like he’s the most distracting thing he’s ever seen and Oswald. Can’t. Breathe. His eyelashes flutter but he cannot allow himself to blink. _Is this it is this it is this it-_

And Ed leans forward.

And Oswald leans up.

“Mr. Cobblepot, so sorry to interrupt-” Nervous footsteps hurry into the room. Penn pauses, fingers fiddling with the files he clutches to his chest as his anxious expression dissolves into surprise.

The moment is lost, the invisible tether breaking as Ed and Oswald hurriedly step away from each other. Ed casts his eyes down and away, tightly clasping his hands behind his back.

“What? What is it this time?” Oswald snaps at his employee. Mr. Penn really is a wonderful asset, Oswald can’t deny that he needs the man (and, although he wouldn’t dare to admit it, he really does care about him too). Still, Penn could not have picked a worse time to disturb him.

“Sir, the Founder’s Dinner is tonight…” Penn replies, eyebrows pinching together, “it would be unwise to be late.”

“Right,” Oswald says curtly. He steals a glance back at Ed, who stands solemnly behind him, eyes dull and gaze fixated on the floor. Penn, most likely sensing the heavy tension, gives a little nod before silently slipping out of the room. 

An even more considerable tension hangs in the air now that Penn has left, an anxiety, a restlessness. Anticipation of what’s to come. It follows them all the way to the dressing room.

\---------------------------------------------------------------

Would Ed really have kissed him? Is that even what his intention had been? Oswald hates that his heart always jumps to conclusions, assuming that Ed wants him when he definitely doesn’t. Not like that, at least.

But the way Ed touches him is so gentle and sweet, the way he does anything he can for Oswald is so undeniably tender and caring. It’s like Oswald is the center of his universe, Ed revolving around him with stars in his eyes. Is he courting Oswald? _Unlikely._ Is he just desperate to please his boss? That has to be it. _Nothing else is realistic,_ Oswald continuously reminds himself. He’s simply avoiding the sharpened blade of Oswald’s knife.

The brush of Ed’s knuckles against his collarbone jolts him back to the here and now. Ed, having just tied his tie, now circles around him, admiring the look he’s put together. Oswald lifts his eyes to the mirror, admiring the purple paisley tie Ed’s selected for him, fingers lingering over the delicate silk. Ed stops behind him, helping him slip his arms through the sleeves of his pinstripe jacket. Oswald has to suck in a breath when he feels the gentle caress of fingers on the nape of his neck. Intimate (and intentional?). 

He tilts his head up and back, meeting Ed’s eyes. “Thank you,” he says with a sweet smile.

“One more thing,” Ed announces, his hands smoothing over Oswald’s shoulders and down his arms, long fingers setting Oswald aflame. Ed steps away to the table, chooses a final accessory, and moves in front of Oswald, allowing his hand to drag along Oswald’s bicep yet again. He tucks a beautiful deep purple and emerald green brocade pocket square into Oswald’s suit, giving it a little pat when he’s done. Oswald’s heart seizes in his chest, considering the color choice.

Ed laughs. “You look exquisite, Oswald. Really, really incred-” And he stops himself. Clears his throat. Nudges his glasses up the bridge of his nose. His gaze flickers between the floor and Oswald’s reflection in the mirror. “Um, well I… suppose I should… freshen up a bit,” Ed finally manages, giving Oswald one last once-over before stepping awkwardly out of the room.

\---------------------------------------------------------------

Oswald should have expected this. When were things ever easy? 

Initially, the Founder’s Dinner went along smoothly, Oswald enduring light conversation with other guests, sipping mediocre champagne, flashing fake smiles. On at least two occasions, Ed had been mistaken for Oswald’s husband, an assumption that sent the butterflies already tickling his stomach wild. He could swear he even caught a glimpse of rosy blush dusting Ed’s cheeks. Each time a comment was made, Oswald politely responded while Ed stumbled over his words trying to dismiss the idea.

Cool and collected on the outside, burning up on the inside. Oswald needs another drink.

Of course the drinks are poisoned. Tetch waves a gun around in his face, orders him to infect himself with the contaminated wine, speaks in infuriating rhymes, all of which makes Oswald boil with rage, bubbling under the surface. Ed’s fingers tremble slightly, anxiously tapping on the stem of his wine glass, his teeth gritted and jaw visibly tense. His beautiful eyes are glossy, his eyebrows knitted together with unease. He’s been ordered to drink the wine as well, but he’s not the one who’s about to bite the bullet.

Even staring down the barrel of the gun, Oswald is more worried about Ed than himself. He really cannot imagine losing him. His one, his only (even if Ed doesn’t know this). As Tetch threatens him, baring yellowed teeth as he laughs maniacally, Oswald keeps his eyes locked with Ed. Without thinking, he hooks his ankle around Ed’s under the table. A small comfort for if he should die.

Before Oswald can even register what’s happening, Ed’s hands dart under the table and, quick as lightning, he leaps from his chair (Oswald’s ankle twisting painfully as they separate) and aims a gun directly between Tetch’s eyes. He squeezes the trigger just as Tetch springs away, but strikes him on the arm. The enemy shrieks then giggles wildly as his limb bursts with blood. Oswald tries to move across the room to Ed, but it’s chaos. The other guests throw themselves from their seats, chairs flying as they frantically clamber over each other. Tetch disappears as discreetly as he came.

Ed immediately seizes Oswald’s hand and together they dash through the stampede to the waiting limo, Ed glancing back at him several times, probably worrying over his leg. They clamber into the car, and the driver is already whisking them away before they can even slam the doors shut. Hearts pounding and breathing frantic, they reach for each other. Oswald cups Ed’s face with his hands while Ed clings to Oswald’s waist, each checking the other for injuries.

“Ed, please tell me you’re okay!” Oswald gasps, close to tears, thumbs smoothing over Ed’s cheekbones. He didn’t remember seeing Tetch even address Ed (other than instructing him to drink the poison), but Ed could have gotten hurt during the ensuing frenzy. He makes a mental note to slaughter Jervis Tetch the instant he sees the outrageously-dressed maniac again.

“I’m fine! Oswald, did he hurt you?” Ed responds urgently, hands roaming all over Oswald now.

“No, no, I’m okay Ed, I promise.” Now that the initial burst of adrenaline slows in Oswald’s veins, the shakiness sets in, Oswald’s body trembling uncontrollably. He removes his hands from Ed’s face and delicately places them in his lap, unsure of what to do, where to channel this nervous energy. His heart pounds slow and heavy in his ears as he replays the incident over and over in his mind. Ed keeps a hand on his back, between his shoulder blades.

When they’ve finally settled down, each assured that the other is unharmed, they sink into the backseat, leaning on each other. They can breathe at last, sitting in peaceful silence as they watch the bright neon lights of the city shift and dance over the darkened car. 

Surprisingly, Oswald falls asleep on the car ride home. He doesn’t wake until they pull into the driveway, his cheek squished on Ed’s arm and Ed’s lips to his temple, gently urging him to wake up. Gentlemanly as ever, Ed offers Oswald a hand to help him step out of the car. It’s a warm night, a light breeze that rustles the trees overhead signalling the approach of a cooling summer storm. Ed and Oswald walk side by side to the door, their path lit by fireflies that flicker and flit about the garden.

When they head up to their rooms in silence, there’s a heaviness in the air, hanging between them. It’s not like before, the budding excitement taking root in Oswald’s stomach as he waits for Ed’s kiss. No, this is a looming overcast threatening rain. 

He thinks about telling Ed that he loves him. Loves him more than anything else in this world, more than his own life. He wants so badly to tell Ed again and again that he would be so lost without him, that if he had lost him tonight, he would never breathe again. That it would crush him, utterly and completely. He would never have the chance to hear Ed sing and laugh with joy, watch his lips curl into the brightest and most dazzling smile, admire him as he dances around the kitchen, preparing Oswald’s favorite breakfast. All the little things he’s taken for granted weigh so much now.

Ed had been so afraid of losing him too, he knows that now. Oswald had seen the pure terror that had twisted Ed’s beautiful features, had noticed how Ed had a chance to abandon Oswald and let him die there but he didn’t take it. Ed risked his own life for him, again, and took his hand as they escaped to safety.

And Ed does _so much_ for him on the daily, from dressing him flawlessly to bringing him fruit to taking care of him when he’s sick. All of these efforts are to make him feel better, to make him smile. To show him he cares.

As Oswald reflects on these things, it’s like a light turns on. Why else would Ed do any of these things? He’s not afraid of Oswald. Ed _loves_ Oswald. And Oswald loves him too. Absolutely, unconditionally, to the moon and back.

But Oswald is too scared to say any of that now.

He feels something break inside him, and he bites his lip as he chokes on a sob. Before he can stop himself, he closes the distance between the two of them, burying his face into Ed’s chest, arms hanging limp at his sides. He feels Ed still for a moment before he wraps his arms tightly around Oswald. Knowing that Ed welcomes the embrace (if Oswald throwing himself at Ed like this counts as a hug), Oswald finally tucks his arms up against his body, hands gripping tightly at Ed’s shirt front as his tears soak through the fabric. It’s so comfortable being held like this, with Ed’s hand stroking over his hair to soothe him.

They stay like that for some time, Oswald silently thanking whatever god exists for keeping his love safe.

\---------------------------------------------------------------

After Ed’s bid him goodnight, Oswald is left to lie motionless on his bed, staring up at the ceiling fan, watching it go round and round. Waiting for a sleep that won’t come.

He’s too warm. Frustrated, Oswald throws off his blankets and strips off his silk pants and button down, instead dressing in a comfortably cool one-piece. It’s a bit revealing, Oswald thinks, but he should be able to sleep easily in it. He flops back down onto the bed, not even bothering to cover himself with the sheets. The pleasant breeze of the ceiling fan lulls him a little closer to sleep, so he lets his eyes drift closed. But then there’s his Ed, staring down the barrel of Tetch’s revolver as he pleads for his life, big brown eyes wide with terror. Oswald jolts awake.

Without a second thought, he stumbles out of bed and staggers directly to Ed’s room. The door is ajar, light seeping through the cracks. Oswald hesitates for a moment, remembering how little he’s wearing, how it shows a bit too much of his arms and his legs. Perhaps Ed won’t mind. He’ll probably understand if Oswald was too warm to wear something more proper. He swallows his pride and presses on, gently pushing the door open.

Warm lamplight bathes the room, dim but still bright enough for Oswald to see that Ed is sitting up in bed, a loose curl falling onto his face as he flips through a book. He’s wearing a tight white shirt that flaunts his wonderfully broad shoulders and toned body; Oswald can’t help but let his gaze linger on him, even though he’s hardly dressed scandalously.

Ed looks up suddenly, greeting Oswald with a wide smile. “Hello, Mr. Mayor,” he drawls, voice smooth as honey. He places the book in his lap and pushes his glasses up his nose. “What’s up?”

“I… couldn’t sleep,” Oswald says softly, finally finding his voice. “And I wanted to check on you.”

“I’m okay, Oswald, really I am,” Ed chuckles, stretching his arms out to his sides, so that Oswald can see he’s all in one piece.

Oswald huffs a nervous laugh. What did he expect? “Well. Okay,” Oswald replies with a half-hearted smile. “I’ll just…” he gestures awkwardly to the door behind him and side steps towards it, somewhat hesitantly.

“Wait, Oswald!” The way Ed shouts and leans forward so suddenly sends a spike of adrenaline through Oswald’s heart. _Will he really ask?_ “You could stay here, if you like.” It’s more of a suggestion, one Oswald can decline or accept, either way Ed doesn’t care.

Oswald _wants_ to say yes. But maybe he shouldn’t. Maybe he’s been too clingy lately, maybe he should give Ed some distance. But Ed is the one who brought it up. Maybe Ed wants him to stay too. Oswald glances back to the open doorway, weighing his options carefully.

The decision is made for him. “C’mon, it’ll be fun. It can be like a sleepover!” Ed chirps with delight. Then he’s throwing off the sheets and stepping out of bed and-

Oh.

Oswald fails to suppress a little squeak as he sees that Ed is dressed in the _tiniest_ shorts imaginable, tight boxers printed with green plaid that fit him a little too well. His summer nightwear, apparently. They certainly do a fine job of showing off Ed’s long, perfectly sculpted legs. Oswald remains rooted to the spot, unable to function, feeling like he’s seen something he shouldn’t. Ed doesn’t seem to have noticed Oswald’s internal meltdown, as he takes Oswald’s hands into his own and tugs him towards the bed.

Oswald clambers onto the mattress as Ed rounds to the other side of the bed and tosses his glasses on the nightstand. He practically leaps onto the bed, probably trying to playfully antagonize Oswald. Oswald only sighs with a smile and rolls his eyes. He slips under the sheets, feeling a little better about his lack of modest clothing.

“See? This is fun!” Ed laughs, wiggling around a bit as he settles on his side to face Oswald, arms-crossed. “Maybe we could make it a regular thing.” He quirks an eyebrow.

Now Oswald is certain he won’t be able to sleep. How can Ed say so few words in such a casual manner but still send Oswald’s heart into a frenzy? He wonders what it would be like to fall asleep curled up against him, to wake up with Ed’s arms wrapped around him, holding him, and Ed’s nose buried in his hair. Ed could press a kiss behind his ear, tell him he’s beautiful and whisper sweet nothings to him, voice hoarse from sleep. Oswald blushes and shuffles just a little bit closer to his friend.

They gaze at each other for several moments, and Oswald is sure that at this close of a distance, Ed can see that he’s head over heels, can see the sparkle in his eyes and the warmth in his cheeks. If he does see something there, he gives no effort to address it. Eventually, Oswald glances pointedly at the lamp behind Ed. “Do you always leave the light on while you sleep?” he teases, unable to contain his adoration.

Ed startles a bit as he realizes he’s been trying to sleep with the lamp on. He hurriedly flips over and switches it off, and when he turns back, he nestles even closer to Oswald. Blanketed in velvety darkness, it’s impossible to read Ed’s expression, but Oswald can almost _feel_ the exhilaration he radiates. Ed is really enjoying himself.

They rest for several moments longer, breathing each other in.

“Edward?” Oswald begins quietly, hesitantly. He hates to break the joyful mood, but this is urgent. Ed hums in response. “Do you… trust me?”

There’s some shuffling, like Ed is uncomfortable, unsure. “Of course I do, Oswald. You’re my best friend,” Ed responds, tone sincere. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

“Oswald,” Ed says softly, “when I said that you can always count on me- I mean that. I really would do anything for you. Not because I feel like I have to. Because I… want to,” Ed strokes Oswald’s arm comfortingly, the touch making him shiver but soothing him instantly.

Oswald smiles despite the fact that Ed can’t see him. How could he be so lucky as to have a wonderful, beautiful friend like Ed? He knows his mother would be overjoyed that he found him, and that she would approve of Ed as his true love. She would certainly encourage him to follow his heart. Oswald plans to make her proud. “Goodnight, Ed,” he finally whispers.

“Goodnight, Oswald,” Ed sighs with contentment.

It’s only after Ed’s breathing has evened out that Oswald is finally able to drift off to sleep.

\---------------------------------------------------------------

This is not how Oswald expected to start the day. He’d had a lovely dream: he and Ed visited his mother for tea, the two of them holding hands and exchanging adoring glances as she cooed over them. But as he gently floats back to the present, back to his body, he begins to realize that perhaps he’s given a poor effort of hiding his affections. When his eyes flutter open, he realizes that he’s not only tucked himself into Ed’s side, but he’s _thrown his leg_ over Ed’s. His breathing stutters and he reluctantly tries to pry himself away from Ed without waking him. He’s too warm anyway, skin hot and sticky where it presses against Ed’s body. Then he notices Ed’s arm is tossed out to the side, as if to hold Oswald as they sleep. Oswald settles back down (although this time he keeps his legs to himself). Maybe he’ll enjoy this moment a bit longer, pretend Ed means to hold him a loving embrace.

He can’t help but watch Ed as his chest rises and falls with each gentle breath, just admiring him as he sleeps. His soft pink lips are parted, little puffs of air passing through them. His eyes shift as he continues to dream, dark lashes fanning out against his sharp cheekbones. He’s a beautiful, peaceful sight to behold; Oswald could stay here for hours, resting in his arms, gazing upon him.

He slips out of bed before Ed wakes.

\---------------------------------------------------------------

Olga took a sick day. With her gone for the day and minimal ingredients for Ed to cook with (Oswald makes a mental note to remind Olga she needs to visit the supermarket), Oswald is left to his own devices for breakfast. Cereal is easy enough.

Well, not that easy. After foraging through nearly every cupboard, his legs straining painfully as he stands on his tip-toes, Oswald at last finds a box of corn flakes. He stretches his arms as far as he can but the cereal box is just out of reach, taunting him at the very tips of his fingers. Fuming and frustrated, Oswald spins around and stares pointedly at Ed, who silently reads from the newspaper as he sips his tea. Oswald is _certainly_ not going to outright ask for help but maybe Ed will get the hint. 

He doesn’t.

Oswald whips back around with a huff, then continues with his futile efforts to acquire his breakfast. He reaches with one hand, he reaches with the other. His face feels hot. He might _actually_ cry if he can’t reach this damn cereal. Or he might stab the box repeatedly with a jagged knife. Defeated, Oswald lowers himself back down off his tip-toes.

A gentle hand is placed on his lower back. Oswald bites back a little smile. There’s Ed, right behind him, reaching up around him to retrieve the cereal box. They’re so close, Ed pressed to his back almost, and Oswald has to hold his breath. After what feels like several heated moments, Ed hands the cereal to Oswald with a warm smile. It’s such a simple gesture but it means the world to Oswald. He can’t help but think of how well they complement each other, and not just in terms of height (although Ed’s long legs come in handy). Oswald’s really found his one-and-only, his everything, but the words he longs to say (the words he longs to hear) remain stuck in the air, hanging in storm clouds.

Ed’s smile fades, a look of worry taking hold of his face. Oswald must have stared at him a bit too long while lost in thought, gaping like a fish, stars in his eyes. “Oswald, you okay?” he gently touches a hand to Oswald’s cheek.

And then the words are spilling from Oswald’s lips without him meaning them to. “I love you,” he chokes, throat squeezing.

And there it is.

The shock-widened eyes that meet his cut him to his core, cleaving him in two. Ed takes several steps backward, anything to get away from him. Oswald stammers, thinks about trying to smooth over his words but there’s really only one way to interpret what he’s just said. Instead he stands there, body numb and a box of corn flakes in his hands. Ed is frozen.

Oswald opens his mouth but only manages a little squeak, no words. He places the cereal on the counter, carefully and painfully slow, and silently leaves the kitchen.  
Rain falls on his shoulders and thunder rumbles.

\---------------------------------------------------------------

If only his mother was here. She would hold him as he cries, hushing him gently, just like she did when he was little. _My poor Osvald. Mother will make it all better._ A tear rolls down his cheek.

How did Oswald misinterpret Ed’s actions so profoundly? He had been so sure, from the warming touches to the extreme chivalry, that Ed’s intentions were romantic. It was clear as day. Oswald never would have confessed his undying love had he known Ed would be so horrified, so revolted. It leaves a twisting, sickening feeling in his gut, an unmelting cage of ice around his heart. He absently tugs at a loose thread on the sleeve of his robe. Unravelling, falling apart. Not unlike everything around him.

The door creaks open. Oswald jerks his head up but looks away just as fast, before his eyes even connect with the brown ones that watch him. Ed steps forward, door swinging open fully so that Oswald can see he’s holding a steaming teacup.

“Hey,” Ed chirps, and he’s smiling too broadly as he says it. Like nothing’s wrong. Like he didn’t just leave Oswald’s heart to shatter on the floor and bleed out.

Oswald glares at him sharply, but the tears forming in his eyes take away from the fierceness glowing there.

Ed smiles apologetically and holds out the teacup. “Ginger tea with honey!” He feels bad but hides it well. “Someone I know made this for me once,” he says with a wink, “it’ll remedy anything that ails you.” Oswald can’t help but scoff at that. His mother’s tea can heal all but a broken heart. At least the spicy-sweet scent soothes him as it tickles his nose.

Seeming to take the hint that Oswald does not plan on stomaching the drink, Ed nervously places the tea on Oswald’s nightstand. After another moment of hesitation, he gingerly perches on the bed, one leg tucked under as the other hangs over the edge of the mattress. He’s so close to Oswald that he’s nearly sitting on his legs. It’s too intimate. Oswald shuffles to the side a bit. Ed shifts closer.

“What is it that you want?” Oswald snaps, aggressively wiping the tears away from his red-rimmed eyes, black mascara smearing on his hands.

“What words are said by many but meant by few?”

Another riddle. Oswald’s blood pressure is too high and his patience is too low. “I’m sorry,” he bites back, “that’s the answer, right?” Ed presses his mouth into a line, saying nothing. That’s when Oswald realizes. He’s just placed an immense weight on Ed’s shoulders, telling him he loves him when all Ed sought was friendship. What right does he have to be angry with his best- his _only-_ friend for feelings he can’t control? Ed can’t help that he doesn’t love Oswald back. All this time, Ed was there for him, doing everything for him, being the best friend he could be, and Oswald is simply ungrateful. Oswald feels his heart crumble- not for himself, but for Ed. The storm breaks, clouds parting in the sky. “I’m sorry, Ed,” he finally says, sadly and softly.

“Oswald, that’s not what I-”

“No, Ed, I am sorry. I can’t expect you to feel… _that way_ about me-”

Ed waves his hands around to stop him. “Oswald. That’s not the answer.”

Oswald blinks several times, the tears in his eyes blurring his vision.

Ed grins and leans closer. “What words are said by many but meant by few?” He leans in further, stealing away Oswald’s breath. “I. Love. You,” he giggles.

“I meant that, Ed. I wouldn’t have said it otherwise,” Oswald says gently, trying to hold his breath steady as he gazes deeply into Ed’s eyes. Maybe he can will Ed to believe it.

“I know you did!”

“So you just came here to what, hear me say it again? To make you feel good about yourself?” Oswald didn’t really mean for the words to sting, but if Ed seriously just wants to bathe in Oswald’s unrequited adoration, he hopes they do. It’s one thing for Ed to not love him back, but to rub it in like this is making Oswald consider dousing Ed in ginger tea.

“Well, I wouldn’t mind hearing it again,” Ed laughs, but then his face changes in an instant, becoming more serious. “Oswald,” he reaches forward and clasps one of Oswald’s hands tightly, sighing deeply, “I wanted to say it too.”

Oswald’s mouth falls open but before he can even breathe Ed is surging forward and taking his lips. He pulls away just as fast, but Oswald latches onto his shirt and tugs him close again. Oh, how he’d always dreamed of this moment, of finding romance with a wonderful man, the kind his mother told him about in fairy tales. Ed smiles against his lips, breathing warmth into him that melts the crystalline ice encasing his heart. Oswald dips his head a little, breaking the kiss, beaming uncontrollably, blushing wildly. He strokes Ed’s cheeks with both hands, cupping his face sweetly. Tears sparkle in his eyes, and it’s like he’s seeing stars. He can hardly believe it.

“Say it again?” he urges, voice gentle.

Another little kiss is pressed to his lips, tender and slow. “I love you, Oswald.” Oswald giggles and Ed is all smiles as he watches him. “You have to say it too, you know,” Ed gives his waist a little squeeze.

Shaking, trying to control his laughter, Oswald leans forward, nuzzling their noses together. It’s a gesture so intimate and sweet that Oswald is a bit surprised with himself for it. “I. Love. You, Edward,” he gives Ed several little taps on the nose, punctuating each word. To any observer it would look like he’s intoxicated, and in a way he is. Tipsy and tipping over the edge, falling deeper in love.

He imagines his mother watching over them, smiling and content. Her boy is not alone anymore.

They share countless more kisses, losing themselves in each other. The once-steaming teacup on Oswald’s nightstand cools quickly, is left undrunk. 

They eventually part for air, and Oswald realizes just how _hungry_ he is, having abandoned his corn flakes in the kitchen long ago. It’s almost like Ed reads his mind, suddenly checking his wrist watch to see it’s not as early as they had thought. “So!” Ed claps his hands together, grinning brightly, “how about I make breakfast?”

“That would be lovely,” Oswald drops his head to the side, trying to feign disappointment (but it’s hard to when he feels so happy), “if we had any food in the house at all.”

Ed hums. “Then we’ll go out! Our first appearance as a couple,” he decides, voice giddy and brown eyes gleaming.

Oswald smiles, presses a soft kiss to Ed’s lips. Sun breaks through the clouds, bright and beautiful. “It’s a date.”


End file.
